


Selling Yourself Pale

by ariphyll



Category: Homestuck
Genre: AU, Gen, The world needs more pale Davekat, kinkmeme prompt
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-01-01
Updated: 2013-01-01
Packaged: 2017-12-05 06:18:38
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,785
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/719831
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ariphyll/pseuds/ariphyll
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>You hate it here. You really do. If you didn't have your own little group of people to support, you would probably just hang yourself so you could get the fuck out of here. Yeah, it's that bad. You've hated this planet since those aliens – those 'trolls' – decided they wanted to conquer the Earth. You were thirteen at that time, and now you're seventeen and running low on cash.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Selling Yourself Pale

**Author's Note:**

> This was a kinkmeme prompt, that you can read here: http://homesmut.dreamwidth.org/39135.html?thread=42702303#cmt42702303
> 
> I suggest you do go read it as it helps to explain this AU setting.

You hate it here. You really do. If you didn't have your own little group of people to support, you would probably just hang yourself so you could get the fuck out of here. Yeah, it's that bad. You've hated this planet since those aliens – those 'trolls' – decided they wanted to conquer the Earth. You were thirteen at that time, and now you're seventeen and running low on cash.

Well, you're always running low. After the trolls came, humans became pretty much the scum of the Earth and you never really have time to save up on money when your main concern is keeping a job. Humans get laid off left and right, like tomorrow is never going to come and you better let those fuckers go free now. Except you never really are free, because eventually you get a new job, work for a bit, then get fired again. The endless cycle, forever entrapping you, and you're currently in the 'unemployed' part of the cycle.

That's why you, Dave Strider, rapper and wish-you-could-be D.J. (trolls don't really allow humans to get the 'fancier' jobs that involve things such as music), were selling yourself. You remember how when you were thirteen and you saw all the people on the streets doing the same act you are, and how you swore you would never do that. Now look at you, selling yourself pale.

"At least it isn't sex," you mutter, grateful for the fact that putting a human in the 'red' or 'black' quadrant is taboo as shit here.

Honestly, you think the troll quadrant romance system is as stupid as stupid gets. You don't understand it and you don't want to. All you care about is being some troll's pale fling for the night and getting paid so you can go and feed your group of four.

Not saying your friends don't have jobs themselves. John and Jade do, but recently both you and Rose were fired, and you need to make sure you all have enough income. If selling yourself to these aliens that captured your home is the only way, well so fucking be it.

Your plan is pretty much flawless for your status in this world, except there's one problem. How the hell do you let trolls know you could be their monorail or whatever for the night?

As you ponder this question you start walking around the small town. Dark rainclouds hover ahead, and you hope you'll be able to make it home dry, but knowing your luck, you won't. You're so distracted at staring at the heavens above that you don't realize you're about to slam into someone until it's too late to avoid.

"Shit!"

"The fuck?!"

You take a hasty step back and glare at the troll before you through your shades – thank god they haven't been broken yet, it would cost a fortune to buy a new pair nowadays – and quickly analyze his looks. You haven't been able to swordfight in years, but you're still used to scanning someone for their weak points.

His hair is messy and tangled and his dark gray turtleneck has the Cancer symbol embedded on it. His sweatpants and sneakers are scuffed and dirty, and the horns - albeit tiny and nubbly - and gray skin reveal him immediately as a troll. The main thing, however, that you notice is the way he is looking at you. The glare he's giving you could make baby birds die. His eyes are yellow and irises dark gray, and his teeth are bared and look like they were going to bite you at any moment. To anyone else he would have looked menacing; to you he just seemed to be begging for you to punch him.

"Watch where you're going, nookstain!"

There's that weird terminology again. You never really understood troll language and slang from wherever they're from – Altarion? Alatarian? – and just like quadrants, you don't want to.

"Oh I'm sorry, did I break a nail princess?" you reply sweetly, despite the fact that he could easily kill you right now and get away with it, no charges.

Ah, the joys of living your life being less than a cent's worth.

"No, but I could break your face," the troll snaps.

"Try it and I'll take the jail time for kicking your ass. Then you're fuckin' moirake or whatever can patch up the pieces, or whatever they do."

The troll stops short at this, possibly surprised at your boldness. Humans tended to just back away from arguments with trolls, but not you. Okay, obviously arguing with the alien assholes will not get you customers, but you're not one to back down from any fight – verbal or physical. You blame your older bro for that.

"I'd like to see you try, human," he snorts, starting to turn away.

You almost let him leave, almost, but you just had to hear it. That little bit of pain in his voice. You grab his arm to stop him almost as if the instinct was controlling you.

"Alright, I'm just going to say this plainly. Is your monorail- moiran- pale quadrant thing open? If so, do you need one for a day?"

Smooth Strider, smooth. You are clearly the best pale prostitute.

He pauses and just stares at you for a while. You know he knows what you're actually asking, but he doesn't give an instant reply. You aren't sure exactly how long you stand there just staring at each other – at least a good two minutes – before he gives you the tiniest of nods. You're not sure if you're happy that you're going to get paid, or if you're angry that you have to pretend and care about this guy's feelings fest.

Either or, you're getting paid, which is the whole damn point.

"Wait, before we go wherever, what's your name?" you ask.

"… Karkat Vantas."

"I'm Dave Strider, and I'll be your cuddle-buddy for the night."

"It's moirail, nookwhiffer," is the last thing he says before going silent.

You don't respond and just follow his lead into silence, not trusting your mouth. You're not going to going to fuck this up. This is almost one hundred percent guaranteed money and if you miss out on it, you'll never forgive yourself.

After walking for a small amount of time you reach Vantas' house – or 'hive' as he put it. You expect it to be just as messy as his appearance but his place is actually spotless. You don't spend much time studying your surroundings though, as you have a much bigger problem. How the fuck do you be a 'moirail' for a night?

During your musings Vantas had lied face down on the couch. You feel as if you should say something but you have no idea what. Vantas flips himself onto his back and, probably sensing your confusion, decides to take the lead in conversation.

Which sadly, is straight to the point.

"I just broke off my moirallegiance."

"I'm… sorry?"

Wow, okay, because that helps a lot Dave. Great job! You're so good at this!

Vantas stares at you for a while and eventually you get worried that he is going to tell you to forget it and leave, but then he speaks.

"You have no fucking clue what you're doing, do you?" he asks.

You sigh; caught red-handed. Or would pale-handed work better in this situation? Oh, screw it.

"No," you respond. "I don't."

"Figures I'd get a amateur," he mumbles.

You bite your tongue to keep from snapping at him. This is not the time to let your temper flare up. Think of the money, think of your little group you need to help support.

Vantas stands up and makes his way into the kitchen. You follow him – do you really even have a choice? – and watch him silently prepare some sort of alien drink. Once finished he takes a seat at the table and begins to sip it every few seconds. After a while of awkwardly standing by the door he just sighs and gives you an exasperated look.

"What? Is your thinkpan so rotten you don't even know how to sit in a fucking chair?"

By the end of the night you wouldn't be surprised if you end up biting straight through your tongue.

You quietly stride over and sit down in a chair and look at Vantas through your shades. You want to say something but nothing comes to mind. You try and think over every social and non-social thing you have learned in an attempt to figure something out. Then you remember the 'Five W's and a How' from an old English class. A 'how' should fit this situation.

"How."

Vantas furrows his brow in question. "What the fuck do you mean 'how'?"

"How, like, how did your… moirain thing end?" you reply with just a hint of irritation.

"One, it's moirail, and two, well…" he pauses for a moment, and then whatever reservations he has breaks. "he never gave anything back. I was always the one caring, being there for him. I got nothing in return and it just… broke."

Yep, this really makes you not want to understand quadrants. Just sounds like four different ways to date someone, all problems included.

You begin to try and think of something to respond with but Vantas continues before you can.

"Then, there's my fucking ex-kind-of-matesprit who went and became his kismesis and I wasn't even told, I just figured it out! Moirails are supposed to tell each other everything and that includes new quadrant mates, whether your moirail has had past history with them or not. I don't even care that they're together it just would have been nice if I had  _at least been fucking told about it!_ "

With an angry shout of frustration Vantas slams his head onto the table. Well, that is not what you were expecting. You know this is the part where you come in and say something reassuring but all you've been doing is thinking of is conversations between other trolls in a moirallegiance thing.

_"I know, I know, just wait until we get my hive and then we can go and curl up on the robot pile!"_

_"But Nep-"_

_"Nope! You're coming with me to my hive fur a nice long feelings jam!"_

Robot pile. Isn't that what trolls generally do with these things? Go and lay down in something?

"Wouldn't you be more comfortable in some kind of pile?" you ask.

"… Yes."

Vantas gets up and walks out of the kitchen. You follow him quickly and a short trip later you're in his room – at least you think it's his room – and on top of a pile of pillows. You had to admit, even if this was stupid as hell, it's at least more comfortable than a pile of goddamn robots.

You lie there in silence as Vantas continues to rant and rave about various things, and when you started running your fingers through his mess of hair you're not sure. You remember seeing another moirail pair doing this – you pray to god that it was a pale gesture cause the troll with vampire teeth was giving the other fucking goo-goo eyes or some shit – so you figure you might as well. Bonus points, right?

You're slowly dozing off from boredom and lack of caring when a question jerks you out of your dazed state.

"What's it like being a human?"

You stare at him in some sort of shock. From what little you do know about trolls, you know that they don't give a fuck about humans. If they did, humans wouldn't be treated the way they are.

"Why do you care?" you snap, instantly becoming defensive.

"I might as well stop blubbering and hear about what the fuck you go through," Vantas replies.

"This isn't some legitimate pale-mance or whatever, this is just you paying me to listen to you bitch, like some weird troll therapist."

Vantas shoots you a confused look. "What the fuck is a therapist?"

"Not important. What is important is the fact that I'm not telling you shit. I don't think I have to remind you that it's you fuckers that destroyed this planet."

This may not be the best time to be spitting daggers at Vantas, but how dare he ask you how your life is? It was because of his kind that you were stuck doing this pale selling shit! Why should you tell him anything about your life? Alright, maybe you were overreacting but  _still._

"Just because most of my kind looks down upon you idiots doesn't me we all do," Vantas growls.

"Doesn't matter. I don't even fucking know you, alright? I'm not telling you shit."

"I'll give you extra if you at least tell me something."

"…"

Fuck this guy and his bribery.

"Why do you even care?" you ask.

"I'm curious."

"My life is not something to be sticking your nose into."

"You've spent the last thirty minutes of your life listening to me, I might as well return the favor."

"I don't want to."

"You get extra if you talk."

"Fuck you."

"I'd wrap my bulge around my throat and strangle myself with it first."

"Beautiful image."

"Talk to me about your life."

"How many times do I have to say no damn it?!"

"Come on, let me see what kind of life you shit stains deal with."

"You know, if you want me to actually tell you things, it'd be best not to fucking insult my species dumbass."

"Everyone is a shit stain to me, troll or human. Now fucking talk."

You sigh. This was getting you nowhere. Vantas' eyes watch you as you adjust yourself on the pile, and debate your options. You had two, keep arguing and probably get kicked out, or tell him about your life and get extra cash. The choice made you irrationally angry, which probably isn't a good thing.

"Fine. You wanna know about the way we humans live? I'll fucking tell you. Our lives are horrible, awful, complete shit since you assholes came here. We can barely hold down a job for more than two weeks before getting fired. The only reason humans sell themselves to you fucks is because we need money to help support whatever group they're in. You act like you're actually interested, but I can tell you're not just like the rest of you bastards. You only care about yourself, and us humans are nothing to you dicks. Every day is a struggle for us – a struggle to survive. So that's the answer to your fucking question on 'what is it like being human?' you complete fucking asshole."

Vantas looks at you for a while, not saying anything, just staring. You can tell that he just wants to start clawing your face off and get into a fight with you – or maybe you're just imagining it and he actually doesn't – but won't attempt it. It makes you want to punch him, just to get rid of this irritation in your body, but you don't. You just lie there, staring back at him.

Eventually Vantas gets up and walks over to a desk. He opens up a drawer and pulls out a couple large bills and hands them over to you as you sit up.

"There's your payment. You and whoever the fuck you live with have a way for others to contact you?"

You flip through the money as you reply, cautious. "Yes. Why?"

"How?"

"We use the wifi from the apartment building next to us. You trolls really need to learn about privacy settings."

"That's illegal. You could get culled."

"You act like we can't get killed for breathing the wrong way, cute."

Vantas pauses, and then a small grin – a smirk? Whatever – appears on his face. You end up leaving his house with exchanged pesterchum handles, a lovely amount of cash in your pocket, and a promise that this won't be the last you hear of him.

*~*~*~*~*~*

You try not to use the internet too much, mainly out of fear that the trolls you leech the wifi off of will somehow notice. However, when you log into your account to message your brother about how he is doing with his own group, the message you get is not one you expect.

**==carcinoGeneticst began trolling turntechGodhead at 5:57 PM==**  
CG: HEY FUCKASS  
CG: ♦?

You pause before replying. You know what the symbol means, you’ve seen it all the time. A symbol that boils down to the question ‘are you pale tonight?’. You can decline, ignore him, or go.

You decide, what the hell? What could you really lose?

TG: …  
TG: ♦


End file.
